


A Daddy's Love

by LegendaryBard



Category: BioShock
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryBard/pseuds/LegendaryBard
Summary: Big Daddies and Little Sisters have an undeniable bond.





	1. Ground Rules

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna make this real clear at the beginning that this is strictly platonic, father/daughter love.

Her tiny voice cries out to him, and it grounds him.

"Daddy!" He'd been so on edge. Her voice soothes him, while at the same time, stirring feelings. Not paternal, but the protective force of a female lion over her cubs. There's a flood of relief and adrenaline that comes with helping the tiny girl down. Yellow eyes look into his, a smile, and she takes his hand. 

"Come on, daddy, you're always so slow..." He lumbers after her, wary now. None of the people would dare attack one of his number, not without five or more present. He can tear through five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten people in a heartbeat, so he has very little to worry about on his own. 

The little girl, though, she is alluring enough that they would tear through him to get to her, just for a taste. She hasn't let go of his hand. 

She's his favorite so far. He's failed before, failed to protect one of the Little Sisters. He went on a rampage that saw Rapture thirty splicers fewer. He cradled the tiny body in his arms, wept and wailed and shrieked, stomped his feet and howled loud enough to break glass and destroyed everything nearby, but he had lost her and it was as painful as dying himself.

Losing her had hurt badly. He had drifted, lost and alone, until he'd found another vent. Out of forceful habit, he pounded on it, hoping she would return to him, even though he knew she had been gently laid to rest much before this. Another little girl had crawled out to him. She said she didn't have a daddy anymore- she asked if he would be her new daddy.

He had agreed. Held her hand and walked after her, listened to her sing and dance and play. He had gotten wiser as time went on. He almost lost her to a dirty trap the splicers had laid- one of them tried to bait him away from her, and the others would ambush her as they left. He had managed to rescue her in the nick of time, and it taught him a valuable lesson.

Don't stray far.

Occasionally there are other Daddies- with their little ones in tow, sometimes without little ones, sometimes with more than one. Sometimes there's two daddies to one little one. Some of the daddies without little sisters challenge him for what's rightfully his. They bellow in terrible whalesong, raising their drills or guns and charging at him. He deposits her on his back and does his best to protect her, and by that notion, protect himself. He is one of the biggest daddies around- the others are hulking, but they don't have his sheer, seven and a half foot height and giant build.

Sometimes when she is in her vent, he thinks he might recall something about himself, a reason why he's this way. There's a ball involved, giant thighs and a barrel chest and massive shoulders and a tapering waist, bulk barely contained by clothing. Numbers and colors and symbols and crashing together into people, helmets and stars and color. He doesn't like thinking about himself. 

He  _ can't  _ think about himself when she comes out of the vents. She pats his hand and whispers a sweet tune that makes him go blank. Their conversations lack flavour, but hearing her sing and giggle and speak of angels, it is everything to him. 

"Can you smell the Adam, daddy?" She asks him, Her voice very close to the side of his head. He adjusts her position on his back. She's up so high no one ought to be able to yank her off. With a giggle, She scolds him for being fussy. 

The scent of Adam is in his lungs, though, and he's been spliced enough to be hungry for it. But he is loyal to her and if she doesn't want to share, he will not take it from her.

Adam has a sickly sweet smell- It is faint if you're not looking for it, easy to pass over and ignore, but when you get enough in your lungs, it is clogging, cloying. He knows she feels the same thirst for Adam, which is why she drinks so deep when they find a body. She is first, always first. The Adamscent sticks in his mind like a bee buzzing by his ear, promising honey at the cost of getting stung. He is sharper, more aware now. Splicers melt from his glare like shadows under a light. The Adamscent is close. 

She lets him know by way of lightly slapping the side of his diving helmet and chirping, "Daddy! Angel!" He cannot speak to her, so he simply lumbers in the body's direction. The Adamscent clouds his nose and he can barely think of anything past tasting it and protecting Her.

He picks her up off his back, gently sets her on the ground beside the corpse. The splicers that had been hanging back beforehand return, creeping like rats. He swings the drill arm ferociously, a warning and a threat all in one, and bellows as hard as his lungs will allow. His throat is not made for the strain, and it hurts. 

He is bleary, delirious, seeing red. One of the splicers calls out in a tongue he does not care to listen to. It is about her and that is all that matters. 

One of them tries to get close and is immediately smacked with the drill, cracked in the side of the face and sent flying, and the torrent of rage and destructiveness of a Big Daddy is loosed. Two of them are slashed- bright red blood sprays his front, and he impales a third, spinning the drill until his front is nothing but bloodied, frothy meat. Electricity momentarily fries him, and he shakes uncontrollably as volts lance through his suit, a last-ditch effort on the dying splicer’s behalf.

**_SHE'S IN TROUBLE_ **

He abandons the splicer who'd just tossed electricity at him, stomping back to her. She's struggling with another splicer, attempting to take away her harvesting tool. He lunges at them, drill managing to take an arm off when he swings it- The splicer jerks back, screams in pain, and stumbles a few steps. It takes a final slam with the drill, dead center in the chest, to assure it won't be coming back to hurt her.

He roars, triumph and challenge all in one. She drinks deep from the harvester, until glowing red tracks spill out past her lips. She burps, giggles, and offers him some Adam. He drops to a knee, clasps and straps clicking, and he doffs his helmet to take a restrained couple of sips. He can't remove anything but the helmet, and Adam is the only thing he's tasted since... Since forever, quite possibly. 

"There's plenty, daddy, you don't need to stop!" She complains when he pulls away. "C'mon, daddy, how are you gonna get big and strong if you don't drink more?" He gulps down another mouthful. Adam is thick, viscous, slightly sticky- watery gelatin. It doesn't taste particularly good, but it's the strength that he feels flooding into his limbs, the clearness of his head, the confidence in his stomach and the breath in his lungs. Adam makes him feel light. 

"That's it, daddy." She encourages. "Come on, let's go play! There's gotta be some fun stuff around here." He puts the helmet back on- she has to help him with some of the more complicated buckles, as his poor coordination and massive fingers make clever tasks difficult. She giggles as she does so, tsking and saying that maybe she should be the one taking care of Daddy. 

He lumbers after her. She is his everything.

=

His Little Sister keeps her hair tied up in a ribbon, unlike the other girls who wear theirs loose. She has a creative streak- She had found an unsoiled white dress that she scribbled on with salvaged crayons and pens, and she wears that instead of some of the other dresses the other little ones wear. She has strapped him with a red bowtie that she claims makes him look 'dashing'. He has seen himself in mirrors and reflections and he disagrees, but it is for her sake and not his own. 

She tells him it's because she wants to feel like someone. She spends time when they're alone thinking of names for the both of them.

"I want to be... Anne! No, Rose. No, wait, Bella! I want to be Bella, daddy, what do you think... Oh, but what about Mary, I want to be Mary, daddy. Except... I have it for real, now, daddy. Promise. I'm gonna be Annie."

She tries to pick a name for him, too. "Sir Percy!" She declares. He doesn't argue, but his lack of response isn't impressing her. "Lancelot, like in the stories. I know, Arthur! Do you want to be Arthur, daddy?"

He accepts Arthur with a vague nod. He doesn't think it was his name In The Time Before, but his name Before doesn't matter.

So she has a name that he tries to keep in his mind. Arthur and Annie, together in Rapture. 

He hums in whalesong to her when he sleeps beside her vent at night. It helps her sleep, he thinks. He's glad it does. When he wakes in the morning, he pounds on the vent and calls her to him. Pinned hair, pretty dress, a pink mouth stretched in a yawn and he gathers her into his arms and places her on his back. Adam can wait until later in the day- For now, he is content to let her ride on his back and move wherever she directs him. She giggles and points and he can see jealous splicers seething in the corners of his eyes. 

So be it. Her happiness is all that matters.

 

 


	2. Double Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter.

“It’s yummy, daddy, isn’t it?” Annie offers him a stale candy bar,  _ food  _ that isn’t Adam, and he hadn’t realized just how  _ hungry  _ he is. He eats it restrainedly, in case she would like more. They haven’t gone food scavenging in a long time. Adam is all they need anymore, this is just extra. “Daddy, come on, you always do this.” 

Her tiny hands batter ineffectually at his hip. Grumpy again. He shoves the rest of it in his mouth and kneels, letting her do his helmet’s clasps. She does it and sticks out her tongue, spinning on heel and marching away with her harvesting tool swinging at her side. He grunts and lumbers after her.

“Daddy, sing me a song.” She stops and waits for him to catch up- he offers his hand to her and she takes it, bare feet pattering along after him. He sings for her in his mournful whalesong. She attempts to hum an accompaniment. 

They wander into a large open space- there’s a view of the outside ocean. Annie squeaks and pulls her hand out of his grip, charging off towards some of the glass. She pokes a starfish stuck to the glass. Its tiny limbs (tendrils?) wiggle on the outside. 

“Do you think you could go and get me one? Pleeeeaase?” 

He groans. No, he can’t. She can’t come out with him, and he is getting more and more paranoid as time goes on. He doesn’t want her alone for even a second- it’s only a matter of time before splicers learn how to breach vents and she won’t be safe in there anymore. 

He takes her hand, pulling her away. Rooms like this make him nervous. If the windows break, she’s going to get hurt. She can’t breathe underwater and she certainly can’t withstand the pressure. She is too fragile, even with the Adam coursing through her blood, and he would rather die a thousand deaths than see her hurt this way.

They come across another little one- she has her own daddy, but he was clearly injured and broken down. He walks with a horrific limp, suit punctured with bulletholes, blood spattered all over him. 

Annie gives a sound of shock and charges over, rapid footfalls making terror spike in his chest. He stomps after her, moaning for her to stop in his whalesong tongue. When she is away from him he is  _ nervous.  _ He outpaces her quickly enough, then he grabs her wrist before she can reach the two of them. He jerks her back, giving a coughing snarl of warning and dumping her on his back. 

“Daddy, the other daddy is hurt, we gotta do something!” She wiggles and manages to jump off him- he gives a roar of outrage and scoops her back up, crushing her against his chest. He stomps off, away from the two of them, and Annie starts  _ screaming.  _ He snorts desperately at her and puts her down, and she stops making noise so she can turn back and sprint in the direction of the other daddy. 

He stomps after her, this time not trying to stop her as she yells to the other Little Sister.

“Your daddy is hurt!” Annie gasps to her, pointing. 

The other little ones’ cheeks brim with tears, and she sniffles. “Nuh-uh. He’s big and brave and he can’t be hurt by nothin’.” 

Arthur’s attention shifts from the little one to her daddy. He’s a foot or so shorter than Arthur, but just as burly, and his drill has been purposely chipped away so it’s serrated. 

He snorts a warning that the other daddy responds to with a pained croon- an acknowledgement of Arthur’s physical superiority, but a warning that he won’t tolerate his sister being taken. It’s fair. 

Annie rounds on him, bristling with something close to indignation. “Daddy, find something to help him with! Go, daddy, come  _ on!”  _ Her tiny fingers ball into fists that batter against his knees. “He’ll protect me if you leave, daddy,  _ please.” _

Arthur stamps his feet and shakes his head. She is his charge and he will not leave her, because he won't let her meet the same fate that his first little sister did.

She gathers breath in her lungs to scream and he groans reluctantly.

He tousles her hair with his good hand, rubbing her cheek faintly as a momentary farewell, and he turns and runs.

Now that he is alone, he is safer, but she is critical. The other daddy is not strong enough for one sister now, let alone two.

He lumbers as fast as his legs will let him move. His mind doesn't focus well, but he knows what he must look for- Adam will heal even the most crippling wounds. He takes giant, sniffing breaths- His little one is far better at hounding the scent than he.

Eventually, though, the pervasive Adamscent winds its way into his nostrils and into his lungs, and he is on a mission. He stomps through the filthied streets, taking in deep breaths that rasp in his chest and sound even worse through his diving helmet.

The corpse is rotting- There are no maggots or flies down here to pester the corpse, nor is it particularly hot or good for making decaying flesh, but the moisture does the body no favors.

He can smell the sickly sweet Adam in its blood, in his stomach, parting through its lips, and the thirst for it sweeps through him, but he is nothing if not obedient to Annie. He lifts the corpse in his great arms, nearly salivating at a rich source of food and Adam being so close.

The Adamscent is practically choking.

He brings it back to the sisters for harvesting. The other daddy has dropped to a knee, mournful whalesong detailing his pain. The sisters don't speak the language, not with the same fluency that they converse in, but Arthur conveys what he has done in a few rumbling moans.

He slings the corpse off his back and in front of the two sisters- they prime their harvesting needles and rip into the body with relish. The canister at the top bloats with glowing red, that one of them drinks deeply. She hurries over to her daddy, tongue dripping with glowing fluid- she dabs two fingers in her mouth and presses them to one of the bullet holes.

The daddy, to his credit, doesn't shriek, but he does toss up his head and groan.

His flesh re-knits, re-sews itself together- the daddy stands up, taller. His divingsuit will bear the scars that his body no longer will.

 


	3. Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two survivors.

He wakes up one day in a strange place.

He's a brute in terms of strength- He can smash through a man like balsa wood, break bone and rip things open with practically no effort at all, but he's restrained. He bellows out in whalesong, thrashing and screeching.

He can't smell Annie anywhere, and that hurts more than anything. It's not enough that he has been... Taken, but he's also separate?

He doesn't remember anything. He attempts to turn the memories back over in his head, but there's only a splicer and a cloud of green.

He moans, miserable now- he's been thrashing for a good twenty minutes, and it's clear he's not going anywhere anytime soon.

"Listen closely, monster." The voice is clipped, British, and if it weren't for the fact that Annie was gone he would've ignored it. He snorts, bullish, and refreshes his struggling. It will have to give eventually, everything gives under the strain.

Fractured pieces of old life snap into his head unpleasantly. The collision with another man, sweat sticking on his face, out of breath and suffocated as another piles on top of him. He overpowers the weight and slips free like an eel, screaming like a maniac.

He shakes his head to free himself of memories, roaring irately because he's still trapped.

"That struggling won't help you at all," The woman's voice says, disdainful. Prim and proper, picking at her words like splicers out for a corpse. He roars as if he might rid himself the noise, and she waits patiently until his struggles are done.

"Are you done? I know you can think in that tin suit, you're not an animal even if you are a barbarian. I have a trade I would like to make with you."

There’s a pause. 

"I have your Little Sister-"

He SCREAMS at the TOP of his lungs, kicking and fighting and thrashing like he's being murdered, fighting with everything he has.

The restraints WILL buckle under enough force, all that matters is getting to her and keeping her safe.

"I know you can understand me, tin head, quit that! You're making a racket! You'll get your girl back provided you perform a small labor for me."

He has to think now.

His head hurts when he tries to puzzle it out- he's not made for brain thinking.

His silence and lack of motion prompts the voice to come back.

"You do know what I'm offering, yes? In order to get back your Little Sister, you must kill a man by the name of Bobby Jettson. Do you understand me, beast?"

He slams his head back against the surface he's strapped to, groaning mournfully.

"Don't take that tone with me, monster." She snaps, flustered and defensive. "I will guide you to where Bobby is hiding. And trust me, your little one is in good hands. I never got into that ghastly splicing business, so I have no want or desire for any of her Adam." There’s a short heartbeat of pause.

"I am going to release your restraints." She says, carefully. He anticipates it.

The cuffs encircling him unlock, and he bursts forth like water from a broken dam.

"Before you try something foolish, like stomping around looking for me, I am far away from the cell I have placed you in. You want your Sister, you do exactly as I say. Is that clear?"

He responds in a low whale grumble.

“I presume that is a  _ yes.  _ Now, follow my instructions very closely. There is a small, dingy little place by the name of  _ Hestia’s Hearth  _ not far from here. That’s where we’re going- Well, that’s where  _ you  _ are going. Can you still read, creature?” 

He lumbers towards the door of the room he was in, inhaling deeply and searching for Annie’s scent. He gets the faint smell of human waste, of blood, slight traces of Adam. Hunger takes hold of his belly, ripping like a spider splicer’s hooks, but he attempts to shake it off. Adam can wait. 

“Head left.” The voice advises him, tensely. He does as he is told, heavy steps moving on in the direction. He’s in a small, glass tube, starfish clinging to the glass and schools of fish moving around outside. 

“Another left.” She advises after a moment. He takes a left, reluctantly stomping where she directs. An airlock meets him, bright neon signs perched on rocks outside the tube pointing to the door. 

“That’s Hestia’s Hearth. An inn, of sorts- It mostly has new tenants, not that there are a lot of new people anymore.” 

He swats the air in irritation, vainly hoping it’ll shut her up. She keeps  _ talking.  _ Not even Annie talked this much, and her voice is much more pleasant than the British woman’s. 

She continues on, regardless. “Bobby has a large posse that he keeps together with the promise of Adam. You’re going need to kill all of them, but if you can manage only one, get Bobby. He’s a vain, stupid bastard- Probably wearing a suit, that pompous, obnoxious piece of-” 

Her voice cuts out and he finds himself pleased. The harpy lady’s silence is the kindest gift he could’ve received from her, outside getting Annie back. 

Unfortunately, someone  _ else’s  _ voice cuts in.

“This is the big metal lug stompin’ around outside my place, right? The broad put you up to it. Now, I ain’t know how  _ smart  _ tin daddies are, but I’m gonna ask you to  _ not  _ spill my guts. I can make it worth your while.” 

Arthur doesn’t stop moving in the airlock’s direction. The woman has his Little Sister. This man does not. It’s as simple as killing him to get Annie back. 

Panicked and flustered, the man sputters, “I notice you ain’t got one of those little brats. Helena took her, right, tin daddy? The woman who’s been talking to you over the radio? Listen to me, tin daddy, when I’m dead she’s gonna keep that sister and sell her off to the splicers, then rabbit off before you can kill her. I know where she is, where she’s keepin’ your girl. You spare my life, an’ I’ll take you there. That good?” 

The airlock whooshes open- Five armed men stand before him, tables overturned to make impromptu cover. A sixth man stands near a machine he has no name for, dressed in a sharp black suit and polished shoes, slightly chubby and without Adam-induced deformations. The other five men are splicers, grotesque growths marring their features, but they’re not as bad as some of the other splicers he’s encountered.

The man in the suit drops the shiny piece of metal he was holding, raising his hands up. When he speaks, it’s with the voice of the man he’d just heard. 

“Heyyy, daddy.” He says, soft and cautious. Arthur is tired of having to listen, to put thought into understanding words, but he doesn’t move. The suited man steps forward, clasping his hands together. The splicers keep their guns trained on Arthur. 

“Yeah, you’re not dumb, are you?” He encourages. “I’m Bobby, Bobby Jettsen. The witch who’s got your daughter is called Helena Breen. Let’s go get her back, huh?” 

He lets out a low moan, swinging heavily side to side as he stomps up to the man in the suit. He does not deal with humans much, but he can make an exception.

Arthur offers his hand out to the suited man, and hesitantly, he takes it. Arthur leads him out of ‘Hestia’s Hearth’, the same way he pulled Annie after him when she was misbehaving. He keeps a grip on the suited man’s hand tightly as he heads back for where his prison had been. 

“Tin daddy, where the hell are you leadin’- Turn left, up the stairs, quick now! I never thought Helena would have the balls to go after me, but I guess even ladies can find a pair now’n again- Can’t believe the nerve of some women, you try to give ‘em a good time down in this hell-pit and they kidnap little girls an’ send Big Daddies after you- don’t stop marchin’, tin daddy, we’re forgin’ ahead until I say stop-” 

The chatter is even worse than the woman from before. He spins his drill warningly and makes a low, whalish sound of annoyance, and that shuts the suited man up. Good. He  _ hates  _ the talking, hates having to concentrate and think and process and  _ understand.  _ He doesn’t think good and processing words all the time is  _ hard.  _

The suited man sheepishly mutters to take a right, and they are met with more splicers. Four in total. One of them is smoking, one of them is sleeping, one of them is muttering to himself, and the final is chewing on some unidentifiable substance. 

“Damn, you got yourself a fat one, Bobby. How do you keep it fed?” The chewer jeers. His arms are punctured with marks, the tell-tale stabs of Eve syringes. One of the fingers on his hands is constantly twitching, tiny forks of blue lightning diving inbetween his digits and across his palms. “Decided to splice up and catch a Daddy? About time.” 

“He an’ I have come to an agreement. He’s not on my leash, so if he decides to smash your head in, I didn’t tell him to do it.” 

The lightning splicer swallows. “Oh, shit, you can talk to Daddies? The fuck, Bobby?” 

Arthur lets out a huffing sound through his nose, giving a low, deep moan to alert the man it was time to  _ go,  _ Annie was at stake. 

“A handy talent I picked up.” He preens his suit, adjusting his collar and cufflinks in a rather  _ pompous  _ manner. “They’re just dumb animals, you know. Can be tamed just like anything else. Was thinking maybe the old boy here could sniff out some Adam for me.” He’s talking down to them, in a way that’s almost familiar. Someone talked to him like he was an idiot a lot in the time Before. The suited man adds snidely, “Did you know they can do that?” 

“Shit, Bobby, seriously?” The smoker looks up now, suddenly interested. “I’ve been  _ itching  _ for a shot of Adam and the smokes don’t do that fucking much to help. He got a Little Sister or something?” 

Arthur tosses his head, takes a breath deep in his lungs, and  _ roars.  _ Any loud noises he tries to make always sound shredded, like a bull’s bellow has been turned to fabric and slashed up by claws. 

The chewer falls on his ass, the smoker smacks his back into the wall hastening to get away, the person who was asleep is now wide awake and bolted upwards, and the mutterer hides in a fetal position. The suited man flinched away, but he retained the most composure of all of them. Arthur squeezed his hand tighter, in a death grip that he knew would be downright painful. Suit attempts to pull his hand away, to no avail.

“Maybe not right now,” Suit says, with a nervous chuckle. “We’re on important business, and he’s in a hurry to get his stuff done. We’re gonna go before he flips out and kills everybody.” 

Arthur picks up the pace insistently, shoving Suit along. He swears he can nearly smell Annie’s scent, overpowering over the fear, blood, Adam, and greasy, burning scents he attributes to plasmids. It is a scent he has been absolutely attuned to ever since he was first birthed into a Daddy, and he tracks it like a bloodhound. Suit can barely keep up with his pace, even unarmored and unburdened by weapons. 

“Damn, you’re faster than you look.” The man in the suit says, puffing for breath. “Are you actually following anything or just stomping around ‘cos I pissed you off? I’ll say sorry if you don’t bash my head in, tin daddy.” 

Arthur figures maybe he’s talking so much just because he likes the sound of his voice. He tunes him out now that he’s caught the scent- He charges through the corridors, body swinging with each thudding footstep. He barrels through splicers that are in his way, lucky ones scattering in everywhich direction as he passes. He lets out a whale bellow as he rams his way through a group of them, one swipe of the drill enough to cut one of their heads clean off. 

There’s a crackle from inside his helmet, and he is almost tempted to take it off and break it because he is sick of hearing the VOICES right next to his HEAD.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually listening to him!” The woman from before sounds panicked.

“Is that you, ya nasty tramp?” Suit barks- He’s long since out of sight now, but his voice rings clear over whatever allows them to talk in his helmet. “Your plan backfired, bitch, get over it.” 

“Wait, nononono-” She stammers. “I- I’ll send the little girl, if you stop right now-” 

“Daddy’s gonna get you!” 

ANNIE. He stops, looks around frantically, then realizes her voice was coming from inside his head again. He slaps the side of his helmet, growling irately. 

“Daddy’s gonna get his drill, go chk-chk-whirrrr and he’s gonna save me-” 

“Shut up, brat!” There’s a sound of flesh hitting flesh. “I don’t need your helpful reminders!” 

His blood BOILS and he takes off in a sprint again. Her scent is almost like a physical trail now- so close he can nearly taste it. 

A locked airlock has been set up, Annie’s scent just beyond it. He slams his fists against the door, letting out a horrific, otherworldly screech. It has to dent, it has to break. After the initial couple slams, it starts bending inward. He slams his shoulder against the door, over and over again, until with a mighty BOOM it’s ripped clean off. Annie’s scent has thinned, but she was here for a good amount of time- He paces in a circle, but there’s so  _ much  _ of her smell that it’s driving him mad and he just can’t focus properly on picking out the freshest trail. 

Suit catches up after a while.

He says words, but Arthur doesn’t care about anything he has to say. He  _ finally  _ manages to discern the newest scent out of all of them, but before he can go charging off Suit grabs his wrist. Arthur nearly slams the drill into his chest for holding him back, but he restrains himself. 

“- gotta wait for me. You don’t got a gun from what I can see-” 

Arthur unceremoniously scoops Suit up and dumps him on his back, as he had done with Annie when she was tired and didn’t want to walk. He weighs a  _ lot  _ more than Annie, but he thinks in the time Before he had carried people much heavier. 

“Sweet baby  _ Jesus-”  _ Suit fumbles around on his back and shoulders awkwardly, because he’s definitely not the size of a Little Sister. “Christ… Okay.”

Arthur doesn’t wait for him to get adjusted to being on his back before he inhales Annie’s scent and charges off. Suit bounces along awkwardly, hips jouncing and knees awkwardly knocking, but if he speaks a word of complaint Arthur doesn’t hear it. 

He uses his momentum to charge right through a door, and he faintly catches Suit’s yelp as he cringes and attempts to avoid getting smashed into solid steel at twenty miles an hour. 

On the other side of the door is a woman, running for her life down a corridor. On her back is a little sister, and the tied back hair doesn’t lie- It’s his Annie.

He screeches like a banshee, the drill spinning and whining menacingly. Suit screams in fear as Arthur’s pace picks up even further, ending in a lunge that nearly takes the two of them twenty feet forward- the force of their landing gets the entire room to shake, the ground cracks underneath his feet, and the woman is knocked to the ground. Annie lets out a cry of pain upon collision with the floor and his entire world goes completely red. 

He doesn’t notice Suit diving off of his back to avoid the rampage, all he’s focused on is the woman who kidnapped his little one and his little one. He grabs Annie’s hand, yanking her away from the woman and pushing her back with as gentle a force as he can muster in his enraged state. The woman screams, something that sounds like sobbing or pleading.

Arthur can only feel  _ anger.  _

The drill  _ slams  _ into her head, repeatedly ( the first time it  _ sticks,  _ and he has to brace a foot against her ribs to yank it out again- from then on, he meets no resistance ) until there’s nothing but wet red paste with flecks of grey, and white shards of bone splashed with crimson. Several deep holes have been bored into the solid marble floor beneath the woman, courtesy of the drill.  

He is breathing hard and fast, and the cyclone of fury rescinds. It subsides until he is simply empty- He turns from her and heads back to Annie, kneeling down. He reaches forward, tentatively, fearing she would flinch away after his outburst, but she does not. His hand gently cups her cheek, parting her hair from her face, and he caresses down to her chin. He makes a soft, mournful noise, an apology. 

“You always come to save me, daddy.” She clasps his big hand in hers- her hands are so small and delicate that he fears he might hurt her if he moves- and she pulls it until she can kiss the back of his glove in a princely manner. “Thank you, Arthur.” 

He lets out a low, soft moan, pulling his hand free- He wraps his arms around her and holds her close to his chest, careful not to crush or smother her. 

Suit still lingers awkwardly, and he clears his throat when they both stand up, hand in hand. 

“Er, tin daddy can’t talk, right?” Suit asks. 

“His name is Arthur.” She corrects.

“Right, right, sure. Tell him thanks for gettin’ that woman. She was a nasty bit of business. All kinds of unseemly connections, y’know.” 

“He can hear you! He just can’t talk, ‘cos…” She looks up at him warily. “I don’t know. But he’s real good at listening and I’ve been teaching him how to write and stuff.”

“You’re teachin’ a Daddy how to write?” His gaze flicks up and down Arthur in surprise. “Uh, sure. That’s fine. Call him off, ‘cos I gotta go check out Helena’s body.” He licks his lips, skirting a little to the side. “Keep tin d- Eh, Arthur, away from me, ‘cos I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.” 

“Okay.” She looks at him, suspicious. Arthur looms over her, drill poised threateningly.

“Eesh! Okay, okay-” He speedwalks to the dead woman’s body, crouching down and rifling through her clothes. “Jesus, you made a mess, tin daddy. Couldn’t have done this neate- Oh, God, I think that’s an eyeball, I’m gonna be sick. Fuck.” 

He eventually stands up, a thin strip of plastic in his fist. He pats the corpse’s sweater and coat, wiping blood off of his hands. “Yuck. But at the same time, that’s all I needed from you two.” A wink. “Pleasure doing business. I’d ask you to shake my hand, little miss, but your tin daddy would rip mine off.” 

He strolls out for the door, passing by the two of them. He even starts to whistle, but Annie clears her throat and calls out, “Mister!”

He stops, turns and looks back at her.

“You knooooow… you owe daddy,” Annie said decisively.

“Uh,  _ no.  _ He an’ I came to an agreement. I would guide him to you and I’d get my stuff. I’ve paid my dues-” 

“I want something,” She insists. “I’ll have Daddy hurt you if you don’t get it.” 

“God  _ damn,  _ it’s bad enough gettin’ strongarmed by that witch, but a little girl, too?” He grimaces. “No deal, kid, I’m  _ outta here.”  _

“Daddy!” 

Arthur pushes her closer to his leg, giving a low, threatening groan. 

“Fine, whatever, kid! Just tell me what you want and I’ll be out in a jiff.” 

“Daddy needs a cape.” 

“You want me to-” 

“A cape.” She folds her arms. 

“Fucking seriously?” 

“Watch your mouth!” She pipes, tilting her chin up. 

“Where the hell am I gonna get a cape-” 

“Don’t care!” She sticks out her tongue. “It’s gotta match daddy’s bowtie, too.” 

Suit groans. “Fine,  _ kid.  _ I’ll see what me and the boys can do.”

 


	4. Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A foreign encounter, tingling with danger, and a thread of a memory.

He has a cape now. 

Suit had said it was made out of wool, and called it a  _ cloak  _ instead of a cape. It’s dark in color, with a hood that is far too small for someone of his size and only ( barely ) usable if the helmet is off. It comes down to the back of his knees- it flutters with every step he takes. Annie is fond of hiding behind it and burrowing in it, standing behind it and making little whooshing noises with her mouth as she flaps the fabric with her hands. 

It’s cumbersome at the worst of times, but it’s not dangerous. He tolerates the tugging and the fabrics she insists on putting him in. 

“Do you think you could wear a dress, daddy? I don’t know if there are any dresses big enough for you.” She frowns and circles him. “Maybe we could go talk to Mr. Bobby again. He got you that cape…” 

He moans softly, motions to take her hand and pull her along. He doesn’t want to go back there. 

“Pushy today!” She huffs. “You’d look pretty in a dress, daddy.” 

Another moan. He gets down on a knee, picks her up, and gently places her on his back. He stands up and starts moving.

“Do you wanna do anything today, Daddy?” She asks, patting the side of his head. “I’m sure there are some fun things we can do…” 

He grunts and moves onward. Adamscent is closeby, and he’s grown hungry for it again. 

When he lumbers into the nearest pavilion, a battle is already raging. Splicers- a few of them shooting at a single man ducking behind cover. The hiding man occasionally exchanges fire at the others, chucking fistfuls of fire in their directions. They stand on a balcony, far above the fighting below. Annie’s weight on his back wriggles as she adjusts and sits on his shoulders instead, peering down.

“Marshmallows,” Annie whispers gleefully. “He’s burning the marshmallows. I want marshmallows, Daddy.” 

The splicers are eventually picked off, one by one, leaving the hiding man. He’s wearing a white, woolen sweater, and has brown hair. A white man. Not a splicer. Any other detail is obscured by Arthur’s poor vision and the distance.

The sweater man vaults over his cover, kneeling down besides the fallen splicers and rummaging through their clothing. He takes a weapon from one of them and slams a freshly stolen Eve syringe into his arm. He prowls through the rest of the space cautiously, gun pulled up and ready, flames licking up and down his fingers and palms.

Arthur reaches an arm up, pulling Annie off. This sweater man means nothing but bad things for her. 

He keeps her close to his chest as he descends from the balcony. There’s a small set of stairs that creak with his weight, and he lets out a long, mournful moan, as he does to alert other splicers to leave the area. His warning presence is almost always enough to warn off a lone splicer, and although this person  _ isn’t  _ a splicer, he should know not to mess with a Big Daddy when by himself.

“Adam, daddy.” She whispers. “Go get it.” 

He does as he is bidden- The bloated corpse on the ground reeks strongly of the stuff, and he lets her down to harvest it. He won’t doff his helmet to drink until they’re well and truly alone- The sweater wearing man does not bode well.

He’s peeking out from behind a half-collapsed marble column, twenty feet from them. This close, he can tell that the man has boxy features and a flattened face. His smell hardly carries past the Adamscent in his lungs, but he has a certain odor…

There’s the burny, crackly scent of the plasmids. The oily gunpowdery scent. The curdling scent of burning flesh and clothes from the dead splicers. The decaying, mossy smell and the strong, earthy scent of mineral-rich water weeping in and rotting away former stores. The coppery scent of blood, both from the splicers and himself and the sweater-wearing man, and some patches so old that it’s practically rusted into the floors. 

But he smells like other  _ little sisters.  _ The pheromones are nearly identical, but he can just hardly pick them out- six different Little Sisters’ scents, on this man. Either he’s clever enough to bait six away or strong enough to kill six Daddies. It makes Arthur feel something he’s never really felt before.

_ Fear.  _

He turns back to Annie, giving a soft, urgent groan- he grabs her upper arm, urgently. 

“Calm down, Daddy! Let me drink first!” She whines. He unclenches his grip, backs off a step, close to an anxiety-induced frenzy. He spins around to see the sweater man. He roars, as loud as he can, hoping to scare him away without fighting.

He’s fought other Daddies who thought they could protect Annie better. It usually turned into a screaming match and show of physical size rather than an actual fight- He stood as tall as he could, shredded groaning getting louder and louder until it’s a wrecked bellow. 

The man looks back at him, measured and calmed, with the exception of the teeth digging into his lip. He’s thinking about something, and it’s maddening that Arthur can’t even comprehend what he  _ might  _ be planning. 

When he strikes, it’s much faster than he ever thought he’d see someone coming. 

The man in the sweater thrusts out his palm, splaying his fingers- Arthur shields his face with his drill and unfettered arm, expecting fire. 

Lightning arcs through his body, lancing around through the suit and forcing him to seize up and be completely immobilized. He’s barely aware of his muscles spasming and the foam that manages to escape his mouth- He’s only  _ terrified  _ of what this means for  _ her.  _

Shotgun fire- where had he been keeping a shotgun?- barks, ripping holes in the diving suit. Pain twinges, but not too badly- Electricity dwindles and Arthur doesn’t skip a heartbeat of opportunity to swing the drill at the sweater-wearing man. 

He moves to avoid it, narrowly avoiding a swing to his chest. Lightning snaps through his body again, and Arthur lets out a shriek of pain, flailing and jerking. He can hear Annie screaming in the distance, terrified and desperate. Buckshot dings off of Arthur’s shoulder, the electricity crackles to nothing. Arthur smashes his fist into Sweater’s front, knocking him on his back. Sweater rolls quickly to his right to avoid getting impaled by the drill, and attempts to scramble to his feet. One of his feet slips in the blood and he crashes back to the ground.

Arthur roars, drill levied. Sweater flips on his back and shoots the electro-bolt plasmid  _ again,  _ pain surging through Arthur’s muscles. He can’t do anything but helplessly spasm as the man scrambles to his feet- careful not to slip in the blood- and runs away. 

“Go get him, Daddy, go!” Annie wails- That solidifies his determination, and he stomps after Sweater with a roar and a spinning drill. Sweater fires a clumsy shot at him, a few pellets clipping his helmet, as he attempts to jam another needle full of Eve into his arm and keep Arthur at bay simultaneously.

Another blast of lightning keeps him back, and he wants to start howling in frustration. Sweater rolls away from him gracefully, scrambling over towards another splicer. Arthur manages to turn and roar. Dark spots are overtaking his vision, and he feels like he’s simultaneously too hot and too cold. He feels almost like he’s outside in the murk, slogging through water. He stumbles after Sweater, gyrating dangerously, and it’s only several moments later when he identifies the thing Sweater has just pulled up from someone’s corpse. 

_ Grenade launche-  _

The explosive hits his feet and manages to blow him backwards- he’s topheavy despite his thick legs and massive boots. He hits the ground hard and slides a food or so, stopping just shy of a marble column.

He fights to keep awake. His vision swims, filtered and spotty. His ears are ringing. His arms are heavy, and he hears Annie scream again, but his arms refuse to obey him. 

Everything goes black, and he lapses into sleep. 

When the fuzz clears, it hasn’t been that long. Annie is shrieking, tiny feet pattering around. A male voice- smooth and steady- calls to her softly. Sweater’s voice?

“I’m trying to help you.” He says, exasperated. “Stop running away! Get-” 

Arthur rises slowly, quietly. Stealth is beyond him, so he stands up as tall as he can and  _ screeches  _ at the top of his lungs. Sweater whirls around in shock, Annie squeals in joy. 

He charges up to Sweater, roaring ferociously, drill levied. Sweater raises his shotgun and one hand has a fistful of lightning again, but it doesn’t matter, because Arthur is  _ ready  _ to  _ kill.  _

The shotgun is swatted aside with ease. The man takes in breath, attempting to thrust forward his palm to hold the Big Daddy back, lightning crackling. His eyes are blown wide with fear and shock.

Arthur’s drill plunges into his chest, and the bolt of lightning goes wild over his shoulder. The sweater-wearing man’s brown eyes constrict, and a spot of blood trickles down past his lips. He opens his mouth, and his teeth are stained bloody. He coughs, wheezing for breath. The white fabric of the sweater rapidly spreads with a black stain- Weakly, one of the man’s fists slaps against the drill, but it only makes him lock up and spasm from the sensation. 

The drill spins. 

The screaming stops almost as soon as it began, as his lungs are quickly shredded to a vague bloody pulp. His organs are practically liquified when Arthur is done, and his ribs have long since snapped and fractured. It takes some effort to pull the drill free. Much bloodier than it used to be. Good riddance. 

He lumbers back over to Annie, who runs over and meets him half-way. 

“I thought you were gonna die, Daddy, I thought you were gonna die,” She sobs, clinging to his leg. Her face buries itself in his thigh, and he tenderly caresses the back of her head. “Don’t scare me like that again, Daddy, please…” 

He moans softly to her. The battle has left him significantly more exhausted than before- He still feels fuzzy and thick, and he’s fairly certain he needs medical supplies, food, and rest. She looks back at him, pale yellow eyes full of tears, widened by fear. 

“Daddy, are you hurt?” 

A soft, weary groan. She takes his hand, pulling him to a corner of the room ( barricaded by some wood, various other metal junk ) and helps him remove his helmet. She touches his face gently, and the contact against skin hurts. He whimpers and pulls away. She doesn’t try to touch again.

She cups her hands before her, giving a couple coughing, choking noises- a thin spool of glowing red Adam is drooled into her palms. Her tiny stomach seizes, and a good couple of tablespoons is coughed out. She holds out her hands to him, glowing Adam pooled in them, bringing her fingers to his mouth. He opens his lips, and she tips her fingers slightly so it flows into his waiting mouth. He hardly has the energy to swallow. 

“Drink up, daddy…” She coos softly, concern shining in her face. “The angels can wait, Daddy, I’ve gotta take care of you.” 

A grateful whine, and he slumps against the wall. He licks a stray drop from the divot in his lips. His breathing clears, his body stops aching, but this is something only rest will completely solve. He beckons to her- She crawls into his lap, pulling his cape over her shoulder so she can nestle in it. The fried sensation brought on by the electricity Sweater had launched lessened somewhat, and his head cleared. 

He dreamed.

 

_ “I want to help those little girls.”  _

_ “Little Sisters.”  _

_ “They’re little girls, too.” _

_ A click of a lighter. A soft, warmed sigh as nicotine hits.  _

_ “You really want to help?”  _

_ “God’s honest truth.”  _

_ “Alright, alright. If you really want to help, try to contact Tenenbaum directly.” _

_ “Who’s that?”  _

_ “Doctor Tenenbaum is the one responsible for the production of the Little Sisters. One of the big sciency names outside’a Suchong.” _

_ “Do you think I could meet him?”  _

_ “Her. Doctor Tenenbaum is a her. Rapture’s full of the progressive type- a lotta womenfolk scientists. Figured, being a colored fella and all, you’d know that the white man ain’t all that can get shit done.”  _

_ A chuckle and a drag of the cigarette.  _

_ “I didn’t mean to presume. I just… didn’t think a woman would be capable of doing that to little children.”  _

_ “Didn’t think so either. I guess even ladies can be heartless monsters.” Cynicism makes her voice bitter. There’s a pause, where he is too abashed to continue and she is off in her mind.  _

_ “... I can get ya a conference with Tenenbaum, if you really want it. I just don’t think she’s going to say anything you want to hear. She can’t stop making Little Sisters now. Adam is the lifeblood of Rapture- Too many spliced up junkies who’ll hurt anyone for their next fix.” She blows a perfect ring of smoke. “If you’re lookin’ to shut the factories down, you can’t.” _

_ “I never said I wanted to. I just want to help them, any way I can. Make them really feel like they have fathers.” _

_ “I’d start off small. Volunteer at Fontaine’s orphanage. They’ve got little girls there if you desperately want to help ‘em, even if they’re not Little Sisters.” There’s something about her voice- something guarded but encouraging. She knows more than she is letting on, but he doesn’t pry. _

_ “Are you gonna be okay by yourself?”  _

_ “Oh, what am I, a charity case? I’m not made of glass. Besides, I’ve got other people who’ll take care of me.”  _

_ He reaches out to her, to lay his hand on her knee. He squeezes tenderly, and pulls away, as if afraid the action is too intimate. His voice gets lower, huskier. “They don’t care about you, not legitimately. They only care that you can put a good word about them to Ryan.”   _

_ “I don’t need them to ‘legitimately care’, so long as I’m fed during the day and sleeping at night. And besides, you’ll only be volunteering during the day.” _

_ “You won’t grow bored?”  _

_ “There’s no need to fuss over me like a mother hen.” She waves her hand flippantly at him, huffing at her cigarette. “Honestly. You ought to be back out on the field, up on the surface, instead of down here. I think it’s making ya anxious. You considered visiting Dr. Lamb?”  _

_ “Don’t need it. I just need you to put in a nice word with Fontaine so I can volunteer there.”  _

_ “Hmm.” Is all she says.  _


End file.
